Of All the Stars in the Sky
by xXFanGirl23Xx
Summary: After Sherlock's 'suicide', Mycroft visits an old family friend to tell the news to. But with the history she has with Sherlock, and her current job position, does she already know the truth? Teenlock to present day. Rated T for references to abuse and drug usage.
1. Preface

_**Preface**_

"Ah, look who it is. No dire emergencies with the government, I take it?" A young female girl said with a sassy tone. Her newly dyed strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a fishtail braid; her normally warm eyes were pierced with hurt and loss. The man that was Mycroft Holmes stepped out of the black car, umbrella in hand.

"Alicia." He said with a nod. "This is on more of a personal matter. This is about Sherlock." His voice was full of sincerity that only Mycroft could have. Alicia frowned lightly. This only meant bad things had come to Sherlock. Afraid to ask what happened, she let her mind reel back to the time when she and Sherlock were teenagers.


	2. Alicia

_**Chapter One: Alicia**_

The sun was warm and Hyde Park was the perfect place to spend a summer day. At least, when you were Sherlock Holmes and being 17 couldn't be better. He had a bag of books, all on Chemistry and other sciences, and he sat under his favorite tree. He reached for a book, when he had absently looked up to see a young girl who was new to this part of town. She had two twin sisters, one older brother and a younger sister.

The girl was sitting by a patch of wildflowers that had grown in the grass nearby. Her hands gently straightened every petal, once in a while reaching up to tuck the free flowing strands of her luscious red hair back behind her ear. One of her twin sisters came over to her, speaking quickly.

"Come on Alicia! Mummy says we can get ice cream if we hurry!" the girl sounded excited. She had a noticeable Irish accent, which made him smirk lightly. The girl they called 'Alicia' didn't look up.

"No Hannah, I want to stay here. I like the flowers. You go on; I'll be home before dark." She said, and it was the first time Sherlock had ever heard her speak. Her voice was soft and sweet, like that of an angel. Her eyes, when she looked up with a smile, were a gorgeous shade of blue that almost looked like lavender. Her smile was gentle and loving.

"Alright, see you at home then." Hannah said, running off in the direction she came. Alicia watched as her sister left, then turned back to the flowers, humming a tune Sherlock had known since he was just a small lad; Londonderry Air. Her voice captured him like a fly caught in a spider's web. He hadn't been one for letting emotions rule his life, but there was something about this girl.

He hadn't realized she started singing until her song finally became loud enough for him to hear. The words rolled off her tongue easily and freely, for she had probably sung it all of her life. The song made him freeze a bit in his place, book open on his lap, as he listened to this Irish angel sing.

_Oh Danny boy_

_The pipes, the pipes are calling_

_From glen to glen_

_And down the mountain side_

_The summer's gone_

_And the flowers are dying_

_'Tis you, 'tis you_

_Must go and I must bide_

_But come ye back_

_When summer's in the meadow_

_Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow_

_'Tis I'll be here_

_In sunshine or in shadow_

_Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so._

For the first time, Sherlock wished he had brought his violin with him to play for her. He felt his heart leap lightly when she looked up at him, smiling softly from her place. Her eyes invited him to come and sit with her, and for once, he didn't refuse. Packing his book back into the bag, he treaded over to her with a lighter step than usual.

"Hello." She said softly, smiling at him still, her blue-lavender eyes looking him over as he sat beside her. "I'm Alicia Lambert. You must be Sherlock Holmes, the one everyone's been talking about at school. I hear you're one of the smarter ones." Her voice was casual, but it was clear to him that she was trying to hide her Irish accent, afraid that, like a lot of others, he'd be judgmental about her.

"That's me." He said, his voice lacking much emotion as usual. He pulled out a biology book and his journal, flipping them both open before picking up a pencil and sketching out the flowers' every detail perfectly. Alicia didn't speak, but watched him draw, mesmerized by the extent of care and detail he took with each sketch. Once one flower had been sketched, he wrote down the name, both common and scientific, and species.

They sat there like that for hours on end; he sketched and she watched, occasionally singing some traditional Irish folk songs softly when she thought he wasn't listening. As she sang, he wrote the lyrics in his journal, taking the time to sketch her out too, but quickly returned to the flowers whenever she had finished her melody. It was almost sunset when he finished sketching the flowers – and her of course – and he placed his books back before speaking.

"So, you're Irish?" he asked casually. She nodded once, her attention focused on the dandelion in her hands. "What part of Ireland?"

"Carlow." She said, her voice shaking slightly. He quickly looked over at her, seeing a tear running down her face. "When Father lost his job, he went everywhere looking for one. He found a small one at a tea shop here in the West End, so we moved to London with him."

"Do you miss it? Carlow, I mean." He asked, hoping talking about it wouldn't upset her. She thought for a minute or two then shook her head then smiled at him, wiping the tear from her face.

"No, not really. I guess I don't miss it, because if I had stayed there, I'd have never met you, Mr. Holmes." She said calmly. He shook his head a bit, smiling lightly himself.

"Please, call me Sherlock." He said softly, standing up; his bag slung over his shoulder as he offered her a hand to help her up. She took it, smiling as she stood, brushing her jeans off. She picked another dandelion and tucked it into her hair.

"I have to head home… I'll see you on Monday at school, right Sherlock?" she asked hopefully. He nodded then smiled.

"Alicia, can I walk you home?" He asked, holding out a hand for her to take. She smiled, taking it.

"I'd like that, Sherlock."

They walked back a few blocks to a small flat when she turned to say goodbye. He smiled, waiting for the lock to click on the door before turning back to the street. He laughed as a black car pulled up with his older brother in the back.

"You're late." Mycroft said as Sherlock slid in beside him. Sherlock grinned at his brother.

"And I have a new friend, imagine that Mycroft." He said smirking. Mycroft's eyes widened in shock, but Sherlock ignored him the rest of the way home, thinking of Alicia.


	3. Happy Birthday Sherlock

_**Chapter Two: Happy Birthday Sherlock**_

A letter came in the mail, all formal looking and far too important to enter the Lambert house. Alicia brought it to her father. Mr. Lambert was an older gentleman in his late fifties. His hands were scarred from the hard labors of work from the time he was a boy until this very day. His eyes, old and grey, inspected the envelope before opening it carefully.

An invitation had been inside, the font was fancy and shouted expensive. It was addressed to the triplets. Alicia looked over her father's shoulder, reading intently, and hiding the surprise behind a look of awe at the beauty of the hand writing.

_You are formally invited to join the Holmes family_

_for a ball in honour of their youngest son, Sherlock,_

_as he celebrates his 18__th__ birthday. No reservation is necessary._

_The date is September 19__th__, at 7:00pm._

The address on the envelope indicated the places Alicia and her sisters could only imagine living. It was the richest of places to live, and they were invited to come. A small note had fallen to the floor, addressed to Alicia. The handwriting was different, but she had seen it before. She smiled, picking it up and going to her corner of the room to read it.

_I hope you can come. I'd really enjoy spending time with you again, like that day in Hyde Park. I could show you the extensive varieties of flowers my mother has in the gardens here at the estate. I enclosed a little something for you, and don't worry about transport. I'll send a car for you and your sisters. See you at the ball. –SH_

She pulled off a receipt for a very expensive dress store that was downtown London. The dresses on it had been paid in full, for all three girls. The sizes were noted, as well as colors and who got what dress. Alicia glanced at her name beside the floor length lavender dress that was obviously the most expensive one on the list. She couldn't help but feel that Sherlock had done this for them, but mainly for her. And for that, she'd be grateful forever.

The weeks passed since the invitation came. The dresses arrived at the flat about a week before the ball, and all three of the triplets tried on their dresses. Hannah's was a lighter shade of burned sienna, bringing out her hair color more than ever. Kelly, the other triplet, had a light green dress that made her look less pale and livelier. Alicia's lavender dress was the longest and had the most extensive detail. Flowers had been embroidered into the bodice, just like the ones Sherlock had drawn in the park. The color brought out her eyes and made them even more unique and beautiful than they already were.

The night of the ball came and the girls were ready. Trish sat in their father's lap and pouted. The ten year old wanted to go too. Alicia smiled at her sister.

"Trishy," she started, her little sister scowling at the nickname her sisters had given her. "you aren't old enough to go to the ball. Besides, Sherlock's the youngest man there. You wouldn't have fun." Trish looked at her sister, sighing, knowing Alicia was right. She went back to pouting, but said nothing when the car came to whisk her sisters away to a mansion.

The car ride was filled with nervous energy and anxiety. When they reached the Holmes estate, they all looked astounded. The gardens went on for what seemed like miles, each one filled with a different array of flowers and décor. The lights lit up the side garden next to the double doors on the side of the mansion, and people gathered everywhere there was light. A young, well dressed servant boy came and opened the door for them, helping the three girls out of the car.

Alicia was the last one out of the car, but when she stepped out, the boy smiled and quickly made his way towards the crowded garden party. Within a minute, the same boy appeared, Sherlock following right behind him. She gasped lightly when she saw Sherlock. His curly hair was the same as ever, but his suit was jet black and showed how expensive it must have been. His shoes glistened from the light nearby and shown so much they must have taken days of polishing. His tie matched her dress, color and detailing, to a t.

He made his way towards her, smiling and taking her hand and kissed the back softly. Her sisters had already made their way over to the party, and Hannah was already chatting up a storm with another man, presumably the elusive Mycroft Holmes she remembered hearing about a few times from a variety of people. She smiled at him, taking a deep breath and letting it out before speaking.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock. I got your note, about showing me around the gardens. God, they look beautiful from here!" she exclaimed, motioning to them to prove her point. Sherlock smiled, holding out his arm for her to take.

"Shall we start with the rose gardens?" He asked, leading her to the opposite side of the house. She nodded, following him over to the gate and into the garden. He talked about all the types of flowers as they walked through multiple gardens, each with its own setting. They ranged from roses and daffodils, to hibiscus and cherry blossoms. All of them were impressive and beautiful. But it was in the last garden he showed her that she felt at home.

The garden was filled with bluebells and irises, with a small pond in the middle, and a marble bench. It was perfect, with lush greenery filling in the spaces where the flowers didn't color the ground, she felt as if she was back in Ireland again. He led her over to the bench; both of them silent, as if letting the nature speak for them. She leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling gently.

"I love it here Sherlock. It's just like home." She whispered, seeing no need to talk too loud. He nodded, gently squeezing her hand. She couldn't imagine a night more perfect. Suddenly, as if right on cue, music started flowing from the mansion, loud, but slow and sweet. Sherlock stood slowly, smiling at her.

"May I have this dance, m'lady?" He asked, bowing in front of her with a hand outstretched. She smiled, taking his hand and curtsying to him before allowing him to pull her close and lead her through many waltzes, one after another, until they had danced the night away together. Hours melted into moments, and when the end of the night came, she felt like she still hadn't spent enough time with him.

"When can I see you again?" She asked as he walked her back towards the main party to get back with her sisters. He stopped and turned to her, smiling.

"How about next week? I'll send a car over and we can spend more time here. Or we could meet at the park again." He started, continuing to give her option after option. Suddenly he stopped, looking her dead in the eye and something in his eyes gave her the impression of what had happened to cut him off. She had said something unexpected, and they both knew it was the truth.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

He smiled, walking her back to the car where her sisters were waiting impatiently for her to get into so they could go home. He leaned in and kissed her cheek softly whispering something in her ear before letting her get in the car. He smiled and waved at them as the car started down the drive. Alicia smiled to herself. There were only six words she had wanted to hear in all her life, and she heard them tonight.

She closed her eyes and saw his smile, felt his kiss, and heard those six words over and over again the whole way home.

_"I love you too, Alicia Lambert."_


	4. The Painting

**_Chapter Three: The Painting_**

She laughed at the jokes Mycroft had fired off, and to her surprise, Sherlock laughed too. She had felt a part of the Holmes family since Sherlock's party in September, and she hoped to make it official someday. She looked at Mrs. Holmes, or Mummy as they all called her, who was pouring her another cup of tea and smiled. Mummy Holmes was like her own mother as well, and that was the best feeling in the world.

Mycroft sighed, standing after a moment. "Well, I must be off. Thank you, Mummy, for a wonderful afternoon. Sherlock, Alicia." He said, nodding to each of them as he made his way from the table back to the car that waited in the drive. Sherlock looked over at Alicia, smiling.

"I have a surprise for you, if you want to come with me." He said softly, taking her hand and stroked his thumb over the back of it. She nodded, standing when he did. Mummy Holmes smiled at them, and she knew the reason why everyone was so happy when she was around. Sherlock had fallen in love for the first time, and she was the object of his unwavering affection.

His eyes shone brightly as he led her into the mansion and up to a room that smelled horribly of pastels and paints. He dropped her hand when we stepped into the middle of the room and moved to a very large easel, on which was a covered up painting. Slowly, he removed the cover and she gasped at the picture that had been revealed.

It was of her, sitting in the flowers at Hyde Park on the day they met. Every detail was noted and made perfectly clear. The shading was as if the picture wasn't drawn from memory, but was taken by a camera and blown up to this size. The flowers were bright, but the main focus was on her eyes. They had the most detail, the most complex coloring. Sherlock pays attention to every detail, but the eyes had been the center of his masterpiece. It was the detail that he wanted everyone to notice.

The hair was a glorious red that made it look as if it had belonged to goddess of ancient times. She hardly believed the extensive time he spent on each strand of it, making each one its own color and direction. Her voice caught in her throat, but her expressions told everything; her excitement, her love of it, her feeling of wonder and surprise, all of it was written across her face. Sherlock only smiled, watching her eyes shift from one place to the next, dancing around the picture to take in whatever memory had been painted, as if she had never been in that memory at all.

After minutes of struggling, she found her voice again. "It's beautiful Sherlock, absolutely beautiful; the color, the detail, all of it. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen…" she paused slightly before asking. "Is this how you see me?" She looked at him, seeing him nod once. Her gaze dropped to his hands, picturing him drawing out the flowers in the park to drawing her, and it all seemed unreal in a way.

He smiled at her, moving across the room to pull out more of his artwork. A variety of flowers were drawn out in the upmost detail, not a single one was alike in color, or form. It was only obvious to see where Sherlock's talents lied, and Alicia's heart grew lighter as he moved towards her again, this time with a small picture in his hand.

"I drew this for you… I hope you like it." He said, handing her a small picture of the two of them. It hadn't been colored, but the detail of his work was still present. It was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen.

"You're an artist Sherlock, a pure genius. Are you sure you want to be a detective?" she asked as he stood closer to her than usual. He nodded, leaning in even closer.

"I'm most certain of it." He whispered, his breath brushing across her lips. A shiver went down her spine as their lips touched gently. His lips were soft and warm, and the kiss was perfect. He pulled away just at the right time, but it was still over to quickly for her.

"You're a great kisser, Sherlock." She said in a light whisper. He smiled, but waved it off. He wasn't one for saying thank you. She knew why. It wasn't that he wasn't thankful, but he just didn't know how to say it. He was the same way about admitting he was wrong or had made a mistake.

"You should probably be heading home soon. Your father said not to have you over too late." He said, looking at his paintings once more. She nodded and moved towards the door. Stopping just shy of the doorway, she looked to him.

"You'll come around to see me again, won't you?" she asked, knowing his reply already. He nodded once. "Then I'll see you soon, Sherlock Holmes." She said with a smile. He smiled lightly as she left the room. He looked over at the cupboard where he kept some art supplies. Opening it, his eyes fell upon the thing he desperately needed now. Grabbing the needle and the bottle, he left the room, heading in the opposite direction of her.

She went to the car that was waiting for her in the drive. She had noticed the needle marks on his arms weeks ago, but chose to ignore them. She didn't want to start a fight. But she knew the signs of addiction; her brother had been an addict too. Sherlock needed help. She sighed to herself as she got into the backseat. He knew he needed help. He was just too above it to ask.


	5. Bruised and Beaten

_**Chapter Four: Bruised and Beaten**_

There was a knock at the door in the middle of the night. Alicia pulled her robe tightly around her as she trotted down the hall to answer it. As she opened it, she hurried to catch Sherlock as he stumbled over the entrance. As she got him standing on his feet and balanced, she gasped. His jaw was cut and his left eye was swelling and bruised.

"Hey Alicia…" he said in a whisper; his voice strained and hoarse, like he had been strangled. She closed the door, taking his hand and led him to the kitchen where she sat him down to tend to his wounds.

"What the hell happened? Street fighting?" She asked as she gently dabbed at his bleeding jaw. He looked downwards, avoiding her question. She sighed, but continued to nurse his wounds. She saw more of the needle marks on his arms, and gently ran her fingers over them. He looked up to her.

"I've disappointed you, haven't I?" He asked like a scared child. She shook her head, kissing his forehead gently.

"No, I just wish you wouldn't keep things from me. I love you, and it hurts me to see you like this." She said softly. He relaxed lightly, gently pulling her into his lap. She snuggled close to him, feeling content there with him. He stroked her hair and started to explain.

"You haven't met my father yet. There's a reason why I won't let you. He's a psychopath, Alicia. He's always been one. He loves my mother, and Mycroft, but he never loved me. All his anger and frustration, he takes it out on me. This isn't the first time I've been beaten, but this time, I had someone to run to.

"I didn't want to bother you at first. You and I were still just friends, and nothing more. I thought I would have scared you. I only came tonight because I might have died if I stayed. He was choking me when Mycroft came home and he sent me to bed. I ran all the way over."

She sat quiet and still, listening to the horrors of the Holmes household. On the outside, they were the friendliest people you could ever meet. But on the inside, they were as prejudice as every other family. Her heart was moved, not in sympathy, but in anger towards Sherlock's father.

"He shouldn't do that to you. I won't let him do that to you!" She said, looking up at him in determination. He shook his head. It wasn't her place yet. She was on the outside and was meant to only see what they let the outside see. Anything that happened inside the family would be kept inside the family.

"No, darling, I can't let you. He'd kill you the first chance he got." He said in a worried whisper. He yawned a bit.

"When did you sleep last?" She asked, standing up and pulling him to his feet. He shrugged lightly.

"A week ago, maybe." He said with another yawn. She laid him across the couch, kissing his forehead again.

"Sleep, my darling, you need it." She said softly, in a motherly voice. He smiled at her sleepily.

"I love you, Alicia. And thanks, for everything." He said softly as he closed his good eye.

She smiled and pulled an afghan over him, waiting for his breathing to even out. She sat in the rocking chair across from him, thinking. She may look innocent, but her mind raced to her dark side. It had been hidden all of her life, but now that someone had crossed the line, it was time for action.

_"He'd kill you the first chance he got."_

The words of warning from the sleeping young man circled around her mind as a psychotic grin swept across her face.

"Oh no he won't." She said in a whisper, so she wouldn't wake Sherlock. "Not if I get to him first."


	6. The Message

_**Chapter Five: The Message**_

Sherlock stepped out of the taxi at the crime scene. Lestrade was standing at the door, ready to show him in when Anderson stepped out.

"You aren't needed here. Go home." He said as Sherlock approached. Brushing passed him, Sherlock walked up to Lestrade. A solemn nod was all he needed to get through to the crime scene. The young man laid spread out on the floor, eyes wide open in terror, but it was noticeable that his attacker first tried to seduce him. The single cut on his neck was deepest, but the little nicks along his chest told him a different story.

Sherlock glanced at them once, and immediately knew the killer. His father had been murdered in the same way, and the signature of this particular killer was the little nicks along the chest of the victim. He stepped back and headed out of the room after a minute.

"I have a theory, but I have to ask someone something." He said to Lestrade as he headed out. Lestrade was right behind him as he left.

"Who exactly?" He prompted.

"A special friend of mine." Sherlock said, getting into a taxi. Once the door was closed, he leaned up so Lestrade couldn't read his lips. "Waterloo Bridge. Make it quick." He whispered to the cabbie, who sped off towards Baker Street at first, then quickly to the route to Waterloo.

Under the bridge, Sherlock stood, waiting in the middle of the dark for her. "It's me." He said grimly. The sound of boots walking on the gravel headed towards him, and it the light coming from his lighter, her face appeared.

"I see you got my message." Alicia said, her recently dyed blonde hair was pulled back off her face. Sherlock nodded, offering her a cigarette. She took it, lighting it with his lighter and took a deep drag from it.

"Why did you have to kill him? What did he have to do with anything?" Sherlock prompted. She took another deep drag from her cigarette, shifting her feet as she answered.

"He was in my way. He tried to pry information from my sisters about me to use against me. He got too nosey, so I took care of him." She said completely unemotional about it. She didn't care who she killed. Her lover was with her now, and that's all that mattered to her. She leaned closer to him, smiling lightly at him.

He knew that grin; psychotic, crazed, but still full of love for him. It was a reflection of what her heart was; tainted, but pure. He did his best, trying his hardest to keep her under control, but once in a while, she had to kill. And she wouldn't think twice about doing so.

He knew he had to get her to stop, but that would never happen. She killed for him too. If someone messed with her man, she'd kill them in a second. Her heart was in the right place, but her actions never lined up with love. But lately, she'd kill to get his attention; it was a game to them; although now, he was tired of playing it.

"You've got to stop this, Alicia. I can't keep covering for you. This is your last warning." He said sincerely. "You promised me that this would stop, and I let you go. Now it's your turn to keep your end of the bargain." She hugged him tightly, dropping the cigarette behind him.

"I won't be killing here anymore. I'm going away, to Russia. I'm training to become an assassin." She said in a whisper. He stroked her hair for what felt like was possibly the last time he ever would. She rested her head against his neck, closing her eyes as he brain memorized his scent and his form. She would miss this, but she had to do something with her life.

"My family will have to believe I'm alright. Tell them I'm in America, under a new name and occupation." She continued to explain. "No one can know where I am going, or why. I trust you Sherlock Holmes. I've always trusted you."

He pulled back, looking her in the eyes. His heart ached and was being ripped to shreds as she looked into his eyes, her own filled with tears. She didn't want to leave him, but she felt compelled to do so. Her heart was in it already, and there was no turning back now.

"How much longer until you leave?" He asked, holding onto her arms. She looked down at the ground.

"I'll be gone before the morning sunlight shines over the Thames." She said softly, trying not to cry. They didn't have much time left. He pulled her close, kissing her roughly. He held her to him, pressing his entire body against hers. Her fingers threaded themselves into his hair as his hands massaged her back. He would miss her terribly. They had been together since they were eighteen, and he wasn't losing her now.

She stepped back after a long moment that seemed to last forever and kissed his cheek lightly. "I'll never forget you, Sherlock Holmes. And you sure as hell better not forget me." She said, smirking lightly. With that, she turned from him and headed towards the small boat in the river.

When they say that men often dream of crossing oceans, or learning to fly, they refer only to men who aren't like Sherlock. He stood there, quiet and still, as he watched her leave with three other men. He hadn't noticed, but as he went to put his lighter back in his pocket, a note was there.

_Ludmila Dyachenko_

He knew nothing of what it meant yet, but someday, and someday soon, he would. He turned on his heel, heading back to the main road. There, he caught a cab to 221B Baker Street, where he spent the night alone in the miserable lonely flat for the first time since he had moved out of the family mansion at the age of nineteen. He stared at the ceiling, his mind reeling back to the memories of garden parties and dances.

The only thing now on his mind was the crime scene; how to explain the body to Anderson and Lestrade. But most importantly, who was Alicia becoming? He turned onto his side and looked at the wall of his bedroom.

"Oh, believe me Alicia Lambert. You are one person I will never forget." He whispered into the darkness before closing his eyes. "And the only person who I can trust more than anyone."


	7. Meeting Moriarty

**_Chapter Six: Meeting Moriarty_**

It had been almost two years since she'd seen him last under the Waterloo Bridge. She hadn't forgotten him for the most part, but she knew him in her heart. The training had been rough, but easy, for she was smart and keen on the job. Her targets were taken down with ease, and not one had escaped her sights alive.

The assassins' group was larger than most imagined. Most of the newer ones hadn't made it through the first kill. Her assignments hadn't been hard in her opinion, but most new ones were given easier tasks of taking out simple people who were annoying the boss, but never a foreigner who was a criminal mastermind.

But when the phone call came through, she knew her time in Russia had come to an end. It was time to return to London, and perhaps, going home wasn't as easy as it seemed. The night she arrived, a black car pulled up, and a young blonde man stepped out.

"Ludmila Dyachenko?" he asked. She nodded once, moving closer.

"Jim Moriarty?" she asked skeptically. She had never met the man who had been so keen to have the best assassins in the world gathered in London. Her mind raced back, finding her memories of every back alley in London appear. Her narrow escapes and hiding places and meeting spots all came to her now as he opened the car door.

"No, but I'm one of his most trusted men. Sebastian Moran." He said gruffly as she got into the backseat, sliding to the other side so Moran could sit beside her. She sighed, looking out the window as the rain raced down the windows. The steady rain and secrecy seemed to stir in the air all around London, and for once, she was happy to be home.

The drive seemed to be longer than need be, seeing as the driver took more turns than necessary to get the old abandoned warehouse where they stopped underneath the overhang. She stepped out cautiously, one hand quickly grabbing the hand gun neatly stored between the cushioning in the car and made sure it was loaded and ready to fire in case of emergency.

Moran led the way through the long and tedious corridors to a small conference room that looked out into the warehouse. A man with dark, neatly kept hair stood with his back to them as they entered the room. His gaze never left the floor of the warehouse, which could be seen through a single glass panel in the wall dividing the two rooms.

She caught the glimpse of his reflection. He was young, at least Sherlock's age. He was neatly kept all around, not just his hair. The suit he wore was very expensive looking; Westwood she guessed. Moran pulled a chair out and motioned for her to sit. As she did, the dark haired man turned to face her finally.

"We meet at last, Miss Dyachenko." He said, a sly grin spread across his face as he stood beside her. Her eyes never left his, and she didn't reply. "Oh, where are my manners? Jim Moriarty; your new employer." He introduced himself. His Irish accent was thick and noticeable to her, seeing as she herself had been accustom to the sound of it for many years during her youth.

"A pleasure, Mr. Moriarty, I'm sure. Now, could you be so kind as to tell me the reason why I'm here?" she replied politely, keeping her Russian accent thick, as she had trained herself to do. Moriarty grinned brighter.

"A simple task, I assure you, but dangerous nevertheless." He said as he took the chair across from her. The two of them stared intently at each other before Moriarty spoke once more. "You have heard of Sherlock Holmes, I presume?"

And there it was again; the pain in her heart at the mention of that name. Her lover and friend and confidante, the one she had abandoned years before. Her heart had grieved and torn in multiple directions that day. It had seemed surreal, but she'd grown accustom to that pain. She feared she'd never see him again, but now their reunion wouldn't be quite as pleasant as one would hope for.

"Yes, I have heard of him. The great consulting detective, correct?" she asked, trying to play the part of the Russian girl she'd become. Moriarty fell for her act.

"Yes, that's the one and the only Sherlock Holmes. He's put me in a great deal of trouble lately, and as you may know, he's a bit of a snitch when it comes to codes. He has remarkably figured out the code that can unlock any door, at any time, from any place, by the pressing of one button.

"Your task is to protect him. The code is with him constantly, so you must be careful not to bring harm to him. But, there is a little game to play, or this wouldn't be fun at all. Three other assassins are out there now, doing the same thing you are." He explained, his grin growing wider, brighter, and more psychotic as he spoke.

He stood up and looked at her once more before turning away to look at the warehouse floor again. "You'll be residing across from 221b Baker Street, in apartment 222c. I wouldn't expect much of the owner, seeing as he's never around much. Guns and other necessities are already in place in the apartment. Moran will take you there."

"Thank you, sir. I am deeply honored that you would choose me for such a task." She said calmly as she rose from the chair and moved towards the door. With her hand on the door handle, she stopped. Moriarty had cleared his throat and was now facing her.

"The last one to Sherlock is a sissy. Remember that, Dyachenko, and try to stay alive." He warned before turning back to his review of the warehouse. She nodded, opening the door and followed the same route Moran had led her through before. He showed her to the taxi waiting for her.

"Go the long way home. You'll need to eat, and there is this Chinese place in town that will be open at this time of night. Don't let us down, Miss Dyachenko." He said politely. He opened the taxi door and waited until she was in before giving her a slight smile and shutting the door behind her. She waited until he walked away to look at her phone.

A single unread message was there. Quickly, she opened it.

_Meet me at the old meeting place –SH_

She looked up at the cabbie.

"Where to, miss?" he asked her.

"Waterloo Bridge, and take the long way. I'll pay extra if I have to. And make it quick." She instructed. The cabbie nodded and pulled out of the warehouse lot, heading towards London once more.

Inside, Moran went back to the room where Moriarty still stood, watching the warehouse.

"Some game, isn't it Jim?" Moran said as he placed a gentle hand on Moriarty's shoulder. Moriarty nodded, turning to his partner.

"Some game, Sebastian." He said, looking back at the warehouse. He snapped his fingers and the lights of the warehouse floor came on, revealing the trap he'd made for the two children he'd kidnap, as he dressed as Sherlock, and bring here. He smirked inwardly at the plan. The final problem would be resolved soon enough.


	8. Reunion

_**Chapter Seven: Reunion**_

The cabbie dropped her off atop the Waterloo Bridge, leaving her to find her way down to the underside. It didn't take long to find her old, beaten down pathway to the underside, and the gravel felt once again familiar on the soles of her feet as she walked to the water's edge. The river Thames hadn't been a sight she often enjoyed, but after being away for a long time, the sight of the Thames had become welcoming and calming to the assassin.

"You came back after all." A baritone voice that she'd only heard in the distant memories said from behind her. Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the shadowy edge and stood next to her once again. The chill from the river seemed to edge its way into their bones, and ever more, into their spirit towards each other. She shifted awkwardly as he moved beside her, her eyes not leaving the gravel at her feet.

He stared across the river at the bridge before eventually looking up at the stars. The night was becoming clearer now that the rain had cleared out. The coldness of the night sunk through their heavy jackets and straight to their skin. She shivered lightly, finally looking up as well.

"The stars are nice tonight… a different sight from what I'm accustom to, though." She commented lightly without real meaning. He looked down at the water, thinking of what to say next. Usually, he was good with words, but now standing with her, his brain didn't work the way it should.

"Do you miss it?" he asked. Her mind immediately went back to the memory of Hyde Park.

_"Do you miss it? Carlow, I mean."_

_"No, not really. I guess I don't miss it, because if I had stayed there, I'd have never met you, Mr. Holmes."_

_"Please, call me Sherlock."_

He was staring at her with a blank expression on his face. She didn't look at him, but stared straight out in front of her, not blinking.

"How did you know I was back?" she asked. He turned back to staring across the river.

"Mycroft is still in the government, and he has sight through every single security camera in London and the surrounding areas. I hacked into the program using his log in and watched for you." He said before turning to her, grabbing her shoulder and waited until she turned to face him. He noticed a little tear in her eye that threatened to trail down her cheek. He swallowed hard, knowing now for sure that he was still in love with Alicia Lambert, no matter who she was now.

"I've been watching; waiting for your face to show up. Two whole years, Alicia, and not one day went by that you weren't on my mind. I sat up every night waiting for you. You're the only thing that I think of when I step onto a crime scene. I've been hoping, wishing even, for your signature on a body. Anything to let me know you're back.

"I made a mistake that night that you left. I never said what really needed saying that night. I want to apologize for that, Alicia Lambert. I could never forget you, because no matter what, you were the first woman I have ever loved." He said, pulling her closer. She looked up into his eyes, seeing the beautiful blue eyes she remembered.

She didn't know what to say; the words to express the feelings inside had been erased from her mind. She couldn't remember what love felt like. It had been too long since she'd been truly loved. In Russia, no one spoke of the life outside of the assignments. No one spoke of love, or family, or friends. It was as if it didn't exist in the world they lived in.

He didn't move away, nor did he pull her closer. The silence between them was something he wasn't used to, and probably never would get used to. His heart was torn again as he saw her frown slightly, but he knew that this was why he hadn't moved on.

He had, in a sense, become more human again. When she left, he was like a machine. He didn't eat often. He rarely slept. He spent every moment he could either on a case or looking for her. There was no time for anyone else. John had come along, but he was only like a parent making sure their child was taken care of. It hurt a bit, but he brushed it off.

But she was his world. She would always be that. The criminal he loved more than he was supposed to. And she would always be his criminal. So when the words finally came, the relief was enough to hold for a while.

"Does it still need saying, Sherlock? Or can this wait for another day?" she asked softly. Her tone led him on to believing that she hadn't slept in days. And for the most part, that was true. But she felt like she wasn't safe here with him. It didn't feel right at all.

"I believe it can wait. It's waited two years, what's another day?" he asked rhetorically. She nodded slightly, pulling out of his embrace. She didn't say a word as she turned away, heading back up to catch a cab home. It wasn't until she was almost out of his sight that she turned around.

"It's good to see you, Sherlock. And for once, it's good to be home." She said. She didn't hear his reply, if he even said anything at all. She was already above him on the street, hailing a cab and heading home.

Sherlock stood under the bridge for an hour or two more. His mind swirled around; his thoughts drifting back into his past with her. He finally moved to go home, with only one question on his mind.

_Would Alicia Lambert ever be the same?_


End file.
